


The Beautifully Broken

by ThatTrashyBitch



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish - Freeform, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anorexia, Aroura Lynch, Bad Parenting, Bareington Whelk, Boulimia, Daddy Issues, Declan Lynch - Freeform, F/M, Fake Friends, Gay Male Character, Gay male characters, Helen Gansey - Freeform, Heney Cheng, I didn’t edit this, I’m very tired, M/M, Matthew Lynch - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Minor Richard Gansey III/Blue Sargent, Mr.Grey, Multi, Nightmares, Past Abuse, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Richard Gansey III - Freeform, Therapy, Verbal Humiliation, What’s the grey man’s first name again?, blue sargent - Freeform, body image issues, but I’m not sorry, i don’t know how to tag, mental health, noah czerny - Freeform, ronan lynch - Freeform, so it’s probably trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-10-10 21:22:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20534798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatTrashyBitch/pseuds/ThatTrashyBitch
Summary: The group therapy AU where everybody’s messed up, Joseph Kavinsky’s in love, Mr.Grey is done with everybody’s bullshit, and Blue Sargent is sick and tired of everybody.





	1. Richard Gansey III, was not doing so well

Richard Cambel Gansey III never had to solve any issue. It was always taken care of for him. He lived a comfortable life, in a comfortable house, with parents who would do anything for him, yet even so, even with all the money and popularity he had, he felt his life was lacking. 

His safety cushion had always been food, no matter the emotion. When he was sad, he had a cupcake, when he was angry, he would eat a brownie, when he was anxious, he would eat his sorrows away in ice cream. When he was empty, he would just eat. He had been trained for a long time that with the mindset that the only thing to fill him up was food.

Having been deprived of his parents’ love growing up, only receiving gifts as displays of affection from his parents, he found that food was the only thing that seemed to always be there for him.

He knew this wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism , but for him, food was always able to help fill that large void in him. That feeling of incompleteness, the insatiable longing feeling of needing something more. He would always eat until the emptiness went away, even though sometimes that feeling didn’t come, and it just left him with an aching stomach, among with an aching heart.

When Gansey first started Therapy, he was a year younger, and about 70 pounds heavier. Nobody at his school seemed bothered by his weight, but then again, he was Richard Gansey III, one of the most powerful people around, his family was well known and could easily end anyone’s career, people made room for people like him, no matter his size.

His parents had put him immediately on a meal plan, hired a personal trainer, put in dietary restrictions by cutting out all junk foods out of his diet, and made him join the crew rowing team. They had claimed he was the first ever Gansey to ever be overweight, and diminished his already small ego. His mother explained to Gansey that it would tarnish her image as a political member of society, to have an overweight son, being that the rest of the family was quite thin.

Obviously Gansey understood why, why she wouldn’t want to advertise and showcase her fat, disgraceful son next to her gorgeous and grandiloquent daughter, or her tall and model-esq. husband, or even her tanned and goddess like self. He understood that perfectly, but the statement didn’t fail to make him self conscious and even more unsatisfied about himself and his body. He longed to be thin. He longed to not want to cry every time he saw his wide frame in the mirror, he longed to not feel ashamed every time he was in the changing room, or had to take off his shirt. So he stopped eating altogether. No more late night binges. No more stress eating, no more anxious eating, no more depressed eating. Nothing. 

It had been the second week of not eating, not that anyone in his family even noticed. He lived all the way in Henrietta, and of course they wouldn’t have enough time to come visit their only son and see how he was doing. The only person mildly concerned about his eating habits, was his older sister, Helen, who he had grown apart from as he got older. Regardless of this, she had made sure to check on his well-being, and he had reassured her that he would begin eating again, and since that answer seemed satisfactory to her, she left him alone. 

Maybe deep down Gansey wanted her to call his bluff and for her to promise that she would help him. Maybe deep down he wanted to close the driftage in their relationship, and just be held tightly by his sister. Maybe he wanted someone to tell him that it was going to be okay, and that he was loved and worth existing. Maybe deep down he understood that what he was doing was hurting himself more than helping him, but above that, he wanted to be skinny. So he continued with his fasting.

Gansey’s parents only found out about his eating habits after they had received a phone call from the school, claiming that their son had passed out, and was at the hospital. He had to stay 5 days for monitoring and to be fed through his tubing. ‘No’, Gansey had thought, ‘I’m gaining all the weight I just lost back.’ He desperately wanted to claw his IV out. 

That’s when the doctor decided he should see some sort of specialist, claiming that he had an eating disorder known as Bulimia Nervosa that allegedly only affected only 0.5% of American males. He had began therapy almost immediately to help him restrain from resorting back to his supposed unhealthy eating habits. He was given a watch that helped him monitor his eating schedule, and started on his Bulimic journey.

A year later, Gansey was at his ideal weight, he was captain of the crew team, he had everyone adoring his every move, and yet, he still felt empty. He would look in the mirror and still see his big fat past self. The big guy. He would still have the days where he wouldn’t eat anything, even after his watch would chime to signal a meal time. There were still some days where Gansey would sprint around his neighbourhood for hours, just so he could get rid of the pesky 70 pounds he could swear were still clinging to him. It wasn’t enough, he, wasn’t enough, he needed to lose more weight. When he had these days, he would break down.

Here Gansey was, waiting for his parents’ driver to pick him up from his session. They had made an arrangement for a driver to drop off and pick Gansey up from every session, so he couldn’t skip them. Since his parents didn’t have the time or room in their schedule for their son, their driver played the role of parents for them.

His regular therapist, Dr.Shaw, had ended up moving earlier in the month, since then, he had been Dr.Whelk’s patient. He’s usually only talked to Gansey for a bit before sending him out to wander. Gansey had found the older man a bit strange, especially because of the feeling that he alway wanted the session to quickly finish that he gave off, but he was the expert, so Gansey trusted him. 

Before leaving, Gansey’s previous therapist made sure to inscribe him a letter for group therapy, with Dr. Grey, explaining that it would be good for Gansey to interact with people his age, who could realate and understand what he was going through. At first, Gansey was anxious about meeting all the new people, but he did have to admit, there was something appealing about making friends that weren’t just stuffy, preppy and fake colleagues. Maybe he would actually enjoy this.


	2. Adam Parrish did not know how to flirt for the life of him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gansey meets Adam.

The ice machine was out of ice. It was yet again a disappointing occurrence of his life that seemed to only consist of despair. From the moment he was born, he had known, he was a let down to his parents. It’s probably why they never bothered to have had any other children, because they were afraid of having another huge mistake. 

Adam accepted it early on in his admittedly inadequate life, that no matter what he did was never going to be good enough for them. By the unseasoned age of 16, he always hated thinking about life before he moved in with Blue. Adam was emancipated after winning the child endangerment and abuse case against his father. He shortly moved into his, now, best friend, Blue’s home.

She had found Adam’s sickly and bloodied body laying in a ditch one night. She immediately called an ambulance, at this moment, she had instantly decided she would do anything for him. She didn’t know why, but she felt a strong urge of protectiveness over him. Like some sort of motherly protective instinct. She had stayed with him all the while; when he got his stitches, while he was x rayed, while he laid lifeless in the small room on the small, white, hospital bed. 

The court had decided that it would be beneficial for Adam go to therapy for a year because of what his father’s emotional and physical abuse had done to effect him mentally. Reluctantly, every Wednesday, he went to Dr. Whelk’s office. 

Adam sighed and poured iceless water into his small styrofoam cup before sitting back down into the small grey waiting room chairs, making sure to space himself two chairs away from the other boy he saw waiting. Maura, Blue’s mother, and Adam’s legal guardian, had dropped him off early so she could drop Blue off to her “dentist appointment”. Adam had known it was just some random story Maura made up and fed him, so she could get him to try to be independent, though. It was a strange feeling, not waiting in the office with blue. Ever since the court order, she had come to every appointment with him, for support, and she always knew what days to ask how everything went, and what days he just wanted to go home without being badgered. And as clingy as it sounded, he felt incomplete without her there with him.

Adam pulled out his phone, the one Maura insisted he have in case of any emergency, along with his headphones, and started playing one of the many free games he had downloaded on it. 

A few minutes later, he had felt a light tap on his left shoulder. Even though the touch itself was gentle, Adam still couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden contact, imagining it was his father’s hard hand coming down on him instead. The hand quickly recoiled after the contact, as if it had been burned. Adam glanced up, searching for who the arm belonged to.

A handsome young man, about his age or so, with honey or chestnut coloured wavey locks (depending on the lighting), a set of deep hazel eyes, with sharp jawline and probably expensive black wire framed glasses peered back. He looked extremely sheepish and embarrassed. “I’m sorry.” He was sure the boy had mumbled. Adam removed his headphones from his ears, even though the deaf one hadn’t mattered anyway. 

“What?” Adam asked, making sure he had read his lips correctly, sounding vulnerable from his Henrietta accent slipping.  
The boy timidly answered, “I said I’m incredibly sorry. I didn’t mean at all to startle you.” The boy apologized. “I was trying to ask if you were Adam Parrish.”

Adam was momentarily silenced, this guy was really good looking. And not in the way of that he was cute or anything, in the way that, he looked like a literal Abercrombie model. He couldn’t help but do a little once over of his body.

“Yeah I’m Adam Parrish.” He answered after clearing his throat, making sure to clip his vowels, hiding his accent. “Why?”  
“Your name was called, and you’re the only other person here with me, so..” he drifted off. “ I also wasn’t sure if the nurse’s calls would be audible through your headphones.”

The boy was right, Adam hadn’t heard the nurse at all, then again, she was closer to his deaf ear than his hearing ear, so regardless of the headphones, he still would not have even heard her.

“Thank you.” Adam said, standing up with his belongings.  
“I’m Gansey.” The boy quickly said, standing up with Adam, extending his hand, as if he didn’t want the conversation to be over yet. He probably saw the confusion on Adam’s face and clarified. “My name is Richard, but that usually leads to people calling me ‘Dick’, so I prefer to go by my surname.” Adam nodded.  
“Nice to meet you Gansey.” He smiled, shaking his hand. His soft, soft hand. His soft, golden coloured hand.

Adam realized a moment too late that he had been shaking Gansey’s hand a moment too long. He turned a light shade of pink and retracted his hand, trying not to feel too disappointed at the loss of bodily contact. Adam walked over to the desk to get signed in, leaving Gansey standing by himself. He may have been deaf in one ear, but he heard what Gansey had softly uttered perfectly.

“Bye Adam.”

Smiling softly, he replied, just as quietly, “Bye Gansey.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found this in my drafts and I haven’t read it at all or edited so... hehe

‘What kind of ice machine doesn’t have any fucking ice?’ Joseph Kavinsky had angrily thought. This was Joseph’s problem. It seemed like every little thing got under his skin, pushing his already out of control speeding car’s speedometer past the red line. He had a horrible temper. It wasn’t his fault though, being the son of a Bulgarian mobster, he had inherited a few of his father’s less desirable traits.

Truth be told, Kavinsky was angry at himself most of the time, he usually used sarcasm or violence or even drugs- lots of drugs, as something to cope with his stressful life. Showing any sort of soft emotion would be a sign weakness, as his father would say, so he resorted to one night stands with whom ever he pleased. He always felt as though he was never enough for his father, like he would never live up to his father’s insufferably high expectations. Constantly giving him the impression that he’d never amount to anything more than a weasel. He felt he was a fake, an imposter, like some sort of stranger, even in his own home. Like a kid who dressed in their parents clothes, desperately trying to be them, but not fooling anyone with their attempt. Joseph’s father’s business required him to not have anything or anyone too close, so he pretended like he didn’t have a son. Regardless of the line of work, Kavinsky knew it had been a long time since his father remotely cared about him.

His home wasn’t even a place he found comfort in. It was big. Too big. It was echo-ie, empty, and lonely most of the time, seemingly hollow, even with all the expensive artwork and priceless antiques. That’s why Kavinsky preferred to just drive all day, nothing but him and the road ahead of him. 

The love that Kavinsky was deprived of from his father, was not at all recuperated from his mother. She was a beautiful woman. Beautiful, that in the way of a viper. Elegantly poised and gracefully dancing, until she stuck her fangs into you, full force, swallowing you whole. She was cold hearted, rigid, all sharp edges. He wasn’t even sure if she actually loved her husband or not, and he may have been more fearful of her than loved her. 

She spent her days playing rich housewife in the big empty house, always wearing her tight black or red dresses, white pearls or diamonds hanging from her neck and wrists, elegantly parading around the house with a glasses of scotch and whiskey. Always flirting with one or the other of Joseph’s father’s men, causally drapes across someone’s shoulder. Kavinsky thought with 60% certainty that she was cheating on his father.

It wasn’t just his home life that he had problems with. It was school too. He only had fake friends and yes men who followed him around, too terrified of him to tell him what he actually needed to hear. He was known at school for being the best hookup for any sort of illegal substance. So, between his business and his fear of both his parents, he found a safe haven in street racing. He met up almost nightly with other “troublemakers” who shared his life’s passions. That’s how he found himself in the hospital.

Kavinsky put his styrofoam cup back, deciding that he didn’t want to drink warm water. He slowly hobbled back on his broken leg, towards the direction of the elevators. The ice machine in his floor had been broken, and instead of admitting defeat by asking the nurses for help, stubbornly, he went to find some himself. Being unsuccessful his first commencement in finding an operating ice machine, he had decided to try the floor below him.

He had know that was where the crazies as he liked to call them, were, but broken leg or not, he wouldn’t hesitate to break anyone’s nose, or anything else’s for that matter if they tried anything.

He slowly passed the waiting room, where he surprisingly found only one patient in. He was a young guy, good looking, kinda pretentious looking, but in an annoyingly good kind of way. Joseph couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the boy’s beauty. His elegantly coiffed brunette hair, his sparkling hazel eyes, accentuated by his wireframe glasses, his skin- his golden skin.

He was already having fantasies about him. Joseph imagined licking his perfect glowing skin slowly from his incredibly sharp jawline, to the lowest point of his belly, then, he would put his mouth around his throbbing- 

“May I help you?” The boy asked, interrupting Kavinsky’s thoughts. Looking at Kavinsky with beautiful hazel eyes, he patiently waited for him to answer. It was at that moment that Kavinsky had realized he had been blatantly staring at the boy, enough so, that the other actually turned around, probably from. 

Embarrassed and pathetically, Kavinsky retaliated weakly, trying desperately to find words to deflect the attention from him.  
“Yeah, I was wondering how it was possible for you to be so disgustingly repulsive that everybody on the ward had to leave.” He growled, giving the boy a cocky smirk and also trying to keep his cheeks from reddening anymore under the other boy’s keen gaze.

Kavinsky suddenly delighted in his words when visibly seeing the boy’s cheeks redden. He saw the hurt in his eyes, but he continued to shove his foot down his throat. “No wonder you’re in the phsyco house.” He mumbled.   
He quickly hobbled off, stepping into the elevator, hoping he would never meet the guy again.

Joseph Kavinsky would never do relationships, he could never do love in general, they were for weak people. And Joseph Kavinsky was not weak. He had spent his entire childhood trying to prove to his dad that he wasn’t weak . He would never in a thousand years, allow anyone to see an ounce of venerability from him. That was a promise.


End file.
